


I'll Run it Up Your Mast!

by Lissy (Alicia_H)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-23
Updated: 2008-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicia_H/pseuds/Lissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"[It] was all  just part of the teddy boy in us, the teddy-boy theme of 'We'll show them.'  We thought…that was what it was all about – I think we would have been pirates in a different life."<br/>- George, Anthology, p. 270</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Run it Up Your Mast!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 749_penny_lane's "Here be Pyrates" prompt on lennonharrison.

From my dark corner in the hold I could see little of the rest of the ship. In fact at this moment I could see nothing, because I had my eyes closed as I counted down the approaching footsteps. I knew exactly how many more it would take him to reach me. This one had been down many times over the week I'd been hiding here. I thought little of it until the time when he paused next to my hiding place. He didn't do anything but, for days now, I'd been finding food and water conveniently dropped within grabbing distance of my hiding place. I had my suspicions that he knew exactly where I was, and that he was even trying to help me.

I had studied at his shoes carefully. They were fancy. You know, buckles and everything, unlike the crew's, which were generally falling apart if they were there at all. They all had feet, though. I hadn't seen a single peg leg go past. For a while I thought I had but then I realised it was just someone sitting in front of my hiding place on a chair. Now that was disappointing.

  
Being the owner of such fine shoes probably meant this man was infamous captain's son, who I'd heard the crew speaking about unfavourably. After a few seconds he went back to his business but, now he was back, I was sure I'd been caught. My spot was built from several crates with a large sheet spread across them. The man with the smart shoes pulled it back with all the flourish and grace of a drunken bull fighter.

"Ah ha! What do we have here? A stowaway?" He wagged a finger at me, not sounding entirely serious. The man looked younger than I'd expected. In fact he couldn't be that much older than me. "Oh dear, Mother will be cross. She doesn't like stowaways. Do you know what she did to the last one?"

I shook my head. In a low whisper, he told me, “Let’s just say he’s still feeding the dog.”

I swallowed.

He chuckled wickedly. Then he squinted at me. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," I lied without hesitation. This was the third ship I'd stowed away on, so I'd had plenty of practice. I'd been sixteen for two years now. By now I nearly was sixteen, even if I still didn't look it. "Please don't throw me off, sir."

"We could find a place for you, maybe," he said with a smirk. "You might even get to be me own personal cabin boy. I could show you the ropes, I suppose."

“Can I have a sword?” I asked, practically bouncing up and down at such an exciting prospect.

"You've got a lot to learn, lad, and I'm not just talking swordplay." He cocked his head to one side and looked at me thoughtfully. "Or maybe I am, just not always in the literal sense, if you catch me drift."

I didn't. Not that I admitted it, of course.

"What's your name, lad?" He extended a hand to help me out of my dark hole and up into the dazzling sunlight that was warming the decks and glinting off the azure sea.

Men shouted to each other from various levels. Up above us the mast flapped in the wind and below us water lapped against the bowels of the ship. Combined, the sounds were almost deafening. My accomplice had to hold me steady to stop me pitching to-and-fro. When I opened my mouth in awe, I noticed the air had a salty tang to it. I didn't answer his question at first. I was too busy taking it all in.

"Eh, I asked for yer name, ye know."

"George."

"That's boring. You need a real pirate name."

"Like what?"

He shrugged his silk-jacket shoulders. "I don't know, 'Pirate Bob' or something."

"Pirate Bob?" I asked, torn between being amused and appalled at the silliness of the name.

The young pirate laughed. "Serves you right for asking me then, doesn't it?"

"I bet yours is just as stupid."

"Just call me Long John Lennon. Or 'Sir', that was good while it lasted, y'know."

Looking around, 'Long John Lennon' spotted two wooden swords that had been left lying around. He threw one to me and I caught it, adopting a fighting stance as easily as if I'd been born into it. Long John gave me a nod of approval. Then he ran off, shouting at me to follow.

"Where are we going?"

"I promised to show you the ropes, didn't I? Everyone knows the best ropes are up there." He pointed towards the mast with his sword.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I asked, a delighted laugh rising in my throat.

"I don't know." He jabbed me hard in the back which such force I was lucky his sword was blunt and he was very lucky mine was too, or he’d soon have been on the business end of it. He gave me a mock bow, doffing an imaginary cap and tweaking an imaginary feather as he placed it back on his head. "After you, Bob."

  



End file.
